


Curing a Hangover

by stolemyslumber



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolemyslumber/pseuds/stolemyslumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Ray DD's Brad's feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curing a Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Molly for beta-reading!

*

 

“I can’t believe you’re finally going out with us again.”

Ray grins at Lilley from where he’s sitting on the couch, slipping his feet into his Vans. “I haven’t been _that_ antisocial, have I?”

“You kinda have, brah. But it’s cool. That’s what taking six classes does to you.”

“Remember that, Person,” Stafford yells from the kitchen. “Next time you enroll for classes, don’t go bein’ crazy again.”

This semester _was_ a little crazy; Ray can admit that now. A month ago, buried under papers and assignments while still trying to work two shifts a week at a diner just off campus, Ray was still pretending he was on top of everything. He hadn’t hung out with his roommates in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten more than six hours of sleep in one night in even longer, but he’d wanted to believe everything was fine.

He needed all six classes this semester, anyway, or the schedule he had planned out for his remaining three semesters would be all screwed up. The schedule issues were mostly thanks to an academic advisor who’d told him all the wrong things two semesters ago and then, when it was too late for Ray to switch classes or academic advisors, had done nothing to help Ray fix it. He’s still stuck with Schwetje as an advisor, but he’s caught up now. And just in time; two of his classes this semester were pre-reqs for classes that are only offered during spring semester. If he had to wait, he’d probably end up graduating late, and his scholarship runs out at the end of four years.

Thankfully, the pit of despair that has been his life for the past four months is almost over.

“Only one more final,” Ray says, throwing a handful of granola bars into his backpack. “And then I’m free.”

“Free to get wasteeeed,” Stafford yells. He comes into the living room, toasting Ray with the cup he’s holding. He’s already done with his finals, the fucking traitor.

“Four p.m. on a Friday, though,” Lilley says, shaking his head in sympathy. “Your prof must be some kind of sadist.”

“Nah, Fick’s cool. He just got a shitty time slot ‘cause he’s new. Besides, isn’t yours at like, seven in the morning tomorrow?”

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” Lilley groans. “I think I’m just gonna stay up all night studying and sleep when I get home tomorrow.”

“Take a nap tonight, at least,” Stafford advises. “And there’s Red Bull in the fridge. I expect you both to be ready to party tomorrow night!”

“Yes!” Lilley agrees, leaning over the back of the couch to fist-bump Stafford. “Ray needs to get drunk with us again! And experience Brad’s one-man party for himself!”

And then there’s that. The whole house has been kind of on edge the past month or so, not just because of finals but also because of Brad. In the middle of October, he went home to surprise his girlfriend for her birthday and found her in bed with his best friend. He’d flipped the fuck out, naturally, and he’s spent every single weekend since getting spectacularly wasted. Ray’s heard about most of it second-hand, or witnessed the aftermath whenever Brad finally makes it home.

“Can’t wait,” Ray says, and he mostly means it. He’d moved into the house at the end of May and spent the summer hanging out with Lilley and Stafford, and their other roommate, Rudy. He’s excited to finally party with them again, after a semester spent at the library instead of at the house or out with the guys. But Brad had spent the summer studying abroad, so Ray’s only gotten to know him on the rare occasions that he has time to hang out with everyone, and sort of on Sundays, when they both usually end up studying in the den.

He gets why Brad’s doing what he’s doing, but he doesn’t really want to deal with it, honestly. Things between them are kind of weird even when Brad isn’t drunk. Ray’s a weird cross between worried and entertained by Brad’s antics, just like the rest of the house, but it’s not really his place to get involved with it.

Rudy has a final on Friday, too, but Brad and Stafford are done. They’re gone by the time Ray gets back from the library that night, and they haven’t come back when he heads back to keep studying the next morning. Hopefully they won’t be too hungover for dinner.

 

*

 

The only good thing about this last final is that it’s in his favorite class of the semester, which is taught by his favorite professor. Well, assistant professor, technically, but Ray’s pretty sure Fick is some kind of genius, and he’s led what might end up being the best class Ray takes in his four years here. For the last half of the semester, Ray probably went to his office hours once a week or so, and Fick ended up helping him with all his classes this semester and even going over his schedule for spring semester with him.

He knows the material for this class backwards and forwards, even without all the studying he’s done leading up to the final. He goes over his answers four times and adds a few lines to the short essay at the end, and he’s still done with an hour to spare. Fick actually shakes Ray’s hand when he goes up to turn in his blue book.

“See you next semester,” Fick says. Ray raises an eyebrow in question. Fick went over his schedule with him; he knows Ray won’t be in one of his classes again until next fall. “Schwetje’s leaving. I’m going to be your new advisor.”

“I’m honestly not sure which part of that makes me happier,” Ray says, because _fuck yes_ to both of those things. “No offense. I like you a lot, but I think I hate him more.”

“Understandable,” Fick says under his breath, flashing Ray a smile. “Have a good break, Ray.”

 

*

 

It’s not even five thirty, and Ray is finished. The plan for dinner was to go whenever Ray was done, so he texts Stafford and waits for the bus. Stafford responds before the bus comes, though, telling him he’ll pick Ray up and they’ll meet the others at the restaurant. Traffic is pretty dead, so they make it in record time.

The others already have a booth in the back corner when they get there, and there’s a beer waiting for each of them.

“Hey, how’d your test go?” Lilley asks when Ray sits down.

“Good, I think. Felt good, at least. How was yours?”

“Eh, it was okay. I’m so fuckin’ happy to be done, brah. And I’m happy you’re done.”

Then they’re all toasting the fact that Ray’s done with the semester from hell. They all seem really fucking stoked that he’s with them. He hadn’t even realized how much he was missing out on, having to study and work nonstop.

“To not thinking about school for a month and a half!” Ray says, holding his bottle up again. They all clink bottles and glasses, plus Brad’s shot glass. Ray watches him knock it back, and he can already tell this night is going to get crazy.

They do talk about school, though, because Rudy needs to vent about one of his TAs not giving them the correct study guide until two days before the final, and Stafford tells them all about the guy in his Wednesday final who came in visibly hungover, puked halfway through the test, and still finished.

“Oh, hey,” Ray says. “I’m finally getting a new advisor.”

“Aw, shit, brah, that’s awesome,” Lilley says. “Is it your professor crush?”

“ _Assistant_ professor crush,” Ray corrects. Brad takes a long pull from his bottle of Blue Moon; Ray can see the whole table mentally calculating how much he’s had so far. “And I’ve told you a million times, I only have a crush on his intellect.”

“And his pretty eyes,” Stafford says dreamily. The table cracks up, except for Brad, who’s still drinking. He sets his now-empty bottle down on the table and flags the waiter down, ordering another.

By the time they leave, he’s stumbling a little on the way out to the parking lot. The bars down the street are lit up and full of people, but Rudy got an invite to a house party closer to them, and they decide to hit that up instead.

 

*

 

His beer had already been paid for at dinner, and his cup gets paid for at the party, too. He tries to protest, but Rudy waves him off, steering him toward the keg.

“We’re celebrating!” he shouts in Ray’s ear. “You have your life back, brother. Enjoy yourself!”

Half the people there are already falling-down drunk. Lilley and Stafford disappeared into the kitchen soon after they got there, probably trying to catch up. Ray loses track of Brad, too, but Rudy follows Ray out onto the deck behind the house, nursing his own beer.

“I’m taking it easy tonight,” Rudy says. “I’m gonna keep an eye out for Brad; I can keep one out for you, too, if you feel like making bad decisions tonight.”

Ray laughs. “Maybe a couple. If I get too drunk, I’ll probably just fall asleep.”

“Yeah, you had a busy week,” Rudy says. “How many finals did you have?”

“Five finals, two projects. And three papers, but those were all due last week.”

“Did you -- oh, that was fast,” Rudy says, looking across the room to where Brad’s leading a girl out the door. Ray’s eyes widen when he realizes the guy following behind is leaving with them.

“Um,” Ray says, because what.

“He started this a couple weekends ago,” Rudy says.

“Um,” Ray says again.

“This is what you’ve been missing for the past two months,” Rudy explains. “For a while he was just getting drunk and crying every weekend, but now I think he’s trying to fuck her out of his system.”

“Is he. I mean, is he okay?” Ray asks. He’d known Brad was going a little crazy with the partying, but he didn’t realize he was going a little regular crazy, too.

“Mostly. I mean, he’d been dating her since senior year of high school, and he walked in on her with his best friend since elementary school, so. I’ve been worried about him, but nothing I try to do for him seems to work. I’m just trying to support him, if this is how he wants to work through it.”

Knowing Rudy, he tried to help Brad by balancing his chakras or taking him to hot yoga. Although Ray would take Brad in yoga pants over Brad getting drunk and making terrible decisions any day of the week.

“If you’re thinking of talking to him about it,” Rudy says -- which Ray wasn’t, because he’s the furthest thing from a relationship expert, and plus he doesn’t know Brad as well as the rest of his roommates -- “I’d advise against it. We’ve talked enough that I know he’s being safe, but that’s as far as he’ll let me in. This actually seems to be helping, though. He just needs to keep working through it for a few more weekends.”

 

*

 

A few turns out to be an understatement, though. Other than the week he spends at home for the holidays, Brad seems to spend all of winter break drunk, asleep, or hungover. He doesn’t bring anyone back to the house, but when he goes out, he’s gone for entire nights, sometimes days. He’ll get dropped off by random people, and he spends two weeks with a hickey the size of a ping-pong ball on the side of his neck.

And then there are the stories. Ray only goes out a few times during break; after four months of not drinking, he’s trying to pace himself a little. Plus he goes home for a week and a half, for Christmas and New Year’s. But he still hears all about what Brad gets up to. Sex in the middle of a party. Threesomes. Foursomes. Three separate girls one night, three separate guys the next. Ray wants to believe some of it’s exaggerated, but he’s pretty sure it’s not.

And okay, yeah, he did catch his girlfriend of four years with his douchebag of an ex-best friend. It makes sense for him to freak out about it, but everyone’s getting worried when spring semester rolls around and Brad doesn’t show any signs of slowing down.

They have a sort of informal, house-minus-Brad meeting right before classes start. Ray’s invited, even though he’s not sure what he can do about Brad’s apparent goal to bed every attractive student by summer. He and Brad still aren’t very close; Ray went to the same parties as him over break, but Brad spent most of his time wasted and in the middle of a crowd of people who all wanted to be his hook-up for the night.

Rudy says he had a talk with Brad about being safe, which sounds about as awkward as a conversation could possibly be. They all decide to let it be for a little while longer. Brad isn’t doing anything illegal or life-threatening, and Ray thinks everyone’s hoping this “fucking everyone he locks eyes with” stage is leading up to the end of Brad’s freakout.

 

*

 

A switch gets flipped somehow, when classes start. Ray tags along with everyone to a blowout of a party the first Friday after classes start. He’s got work at ten the next morning, so his plan is to have a drink or two and head home. Everyone’s expecting Brad’s night to go as usual -- he’ll get falling-down drunk but not throwing-up drunk, pick someone (or someones) to go have safe but inadvisable relations with, pass out, and stumble home still drunk and/or hungover the next afternoon.

When they get to the house party, one of Lilley’s friends invites them to another party a few blocks away. Lilley, Stafford, and Rudy head over, but Ray’s halfway through his second beer already. He decides to stay at Party #1 and then head home. That’s why Ray is the one someone comes to get when Brad starts throwing shit.

Brad’s in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Thankfully, all he’s throwing are shoes and a few purses, but he has a handful of wire hangers in his hands when Ray walks in. He squints at Ray, his expression clearing a little when he figures out who it is.

“Ray,” he says, staring at the hangers like he’s not sure where they came from.

“Hey buddy,” Ray says, in a careful, don’t-antagonize-the-crazy-person tone of voice. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Brad announces, but then he seems to realize how much evidence there is to the contrary. His face kind of crumples a little. If he starts crying, Ray is calling Rudy.

“Sure you are. You wanna sit down?”

Brad nods and sort of slumps sideways, falling onto the bed, hangers still in hand. Ray tugs them gently away and sets them on the pillow. He sits down next to Brad.

“I hate her,” Brad says plaintively. He sits up but then tips sideways, leaning into Ray. “I hate her so much. Why doesn’t she love me anymore?”

Oh god. “I don’t - ‘cause she’s a bitch?” Ray tries.

“Nooo,” Brad says. “No, she’s _perfect_.”

“But she cheated on you.”

“But I love her so much,” Brad says. He turns and sniffles directly into Ray’s ear. “What do I do?”

“Um,” Ray says. He wraps an arm around Brad to keep him from falling farther into Ray. “I don’t -- I’m not really a good source for relationship advice, okay? I’ve had one actual boyfriend in my entire life, and that didn’t --”

“Boyfriend,” Brad repeats, sounding intrigued. His face is even closer to Ray’s.

“Yeah,” Ray says. Brad’s hand fumbles between them and lands on Ray’s knee. “ _No_.”

“But you said --” Brad starts, bereft.

“That wasn’t an invitation, that was -- what are you even _doing_?”

Brad appears to be trying to take off Ray’s shoes using his feet.

“Ow, stop it! Hands and feet to yourself!”

Brad juts his lower lip out exaggeratedly and clamps both hands between his own thighs. Ray looks at him. He’s in just his undershirt -- who knows what happened to the shirt he was wearing when he came. His face is red, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and he’s staring off over Ray’s shoulder.

“You are blitzed, aren’t you?”

“I’m fiiine,” Brad sing-songs. And then he flops backward onto the bed and passes the fuck out.

Ray stares for a long moment, and then gets up. He’s going to turn Brad on his side and let him sleep it off at whoever’s house this is. He calls Rudy to tell him the plan, and he has to go out into the hallway so he can yell loud enough for Rudy to hear over the music in the background. He’s gone for two minutes, tops. When he comes back, there’s a guy and a girl hovering over Brad on the bed, giggling and trying to wake him up. One of them sticks a hand down his pants as Ray comes in.

Ray kicks them out and locks the door. He doesn’t really want to call Rudy back and make one of his roommates come and help take Brad home. He ends up texting Rudy the change in plans and setting his phone alarm for 8 a.m. He pulls Brad up fully onto the bed and crashes next to him.

 

*

 

When his alarm goes off, Ray wakes up alone. Downstairs, there are people passed out all over the living room, and three girls are throwing cups into trash bags.

“Hey, um, did you see my friend leave?” Ray asks one of them. “Blonde, wearing a wife beater, about eight feet tall?”

“Brad? Yeah, half an hour ago, I think. Right, Alli?”

“What?” someone yells from the kitchen.

“You saw Brad leave, right?”

“Yeah, a little while ago.”

The girl turns back to Ray. “He probably went home. You aren’t going to -- I mean, Brad’s not really. He’s sort of a love ‘em and leave ‘em type, right, it’s nothing personal.”

Ray’s brain takes a second to catch up. “Oh. Oh! No, no, I’m his roommate. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t destroy the rest of your house or something. He was kind of throwing things around up there. I don’t know whose room that is, but I can --”

The girl waves him off as he reaches for his wallet. “Nah, it’s cool, he already settled up. I mean, an apology and just knowing how bad his hangover is gonna be would’ve been enough, y’know?”

Ray laughs. “I don’t even want to think about it. Thanks, uh --”

“Nat,” she says.

“Ray,”

“Thanks for the concern, Ray. You could help us clean up, if you still feel bad!”

“I would love to,” Ray says, widening his eyes, pretending to be earnest. “But I have to go to work.”

“Aww, fine. Tell Brad hi for us!” Nat says as Ray heads for the door.

“Loudly! Right in his ear!” the other girl calls from the kitchen.

 

*

 

His shift at the diner isn’t as bad as it could be. It’s slow, mostly regulars who tip well. Belle’s there until three. She’s pushing seventy, and Poke pretty much lets her do whatever she wants as long as customers get their food and leave happy. She hugs him hello when he comes into the back room.

“Raymond!” she trills. “Be careful, handsome. The boss man is in a mood today.”

“I am not in a mood,” Poke yells from the kitchen. “My marital strife is not a mood.”

Ray sends Belle a questioning look.

“Boss man wants another baby,” Belle says, leaning in conspiratorially. “The Missus isn’t convinced.”

“Gina wants to wait another couple of years,” Poke says, drying his hands on a towel as he comes into the room. “Hey, Person. I just think they should all be close in age, y’know? Lizzie and Roz are two years apart, I want their hermanito to be two years younger than Roz.”

“You’re so sure it will be a boy,” Belle says, scoffing lightly.

“Nah, I _need_ it to be a boy. For my sanity,” Poke says. The bell over the front door dings; he tosses Ray an apron. “You’re up.”

 

*

 

Things at the house go on like usual. Ray warns the guys that Brad’s apparently switched from lust to wrath. They talk about it a few times when Brad’s not around, but talking about it with Brad isn’t even an option. When he’s sober, Brad continues to avoid Rudy’s attempts to balance his chi or cleanse his system or whatever. He doesn’t acknowledge the slurred confessions he made to Ray on Friday night, either. He goes right on like last weekend never even happened. During the week, it’s like _none_ of it happened, up to and including his girlfriend cheating on him. Ray doesn’t know if it’s some kind of zen compartmentalization, or if he’s just in denial.

He might even try to figure it out, because he knows the longer this goes on, the more worried all of them are getting. But Brad’s still maintaining his not-quite-friendship with Ray. At least _that’s_ normal, at this point, for the two of them to only hang out during the week when it’s with the house as a group. It would be weird if Brad started walking to class with him or something.

The next weekend goes about the same as the last one did. Another party where things get crazy enough that Brad can disappear upstairs without any of them realizing. Someone comes over to where Rudy and Ray are talking in the living room. Brad has apparently locked himself in a bathroom and is refusing to come out.

Rudy just sighs and gets up.

“Wait, are you Ray?” the guy asks. “Because he said he only wants to talk to Ray.”

When they get upstairs, Rudy shrugs and waves Ray toward the door. It’s still locked, so Ray knocks.

“Go piss somewhere else!” Brad yells.

“It’s Ray. Can you unlock the door?” There’s a long pause. He’s entertaining thoughts about breaking the door down when it cracks open.

“Just you,” Brad says, like he’s holding the bathroom hostage and Ray is the negotiator.

“Just me,” Ray says. Brad’s making a face -- probably at Ray using his talking-to-a-crazy-person voice again -- when Ray comes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Brad slumps down onto the bath mat in front of the sink. Ray hesitates and sits on the lid of the toilet.

 _He’s okay_ , he texts Rudy. _Don’t see any blood, at least._

“‘m fine,” Brad says, leaning back against the cabinets under the sink.

“Okay.” Ray props his feet up on the sink. Brad can talk if he wants to. Ray isn’t really sober enough to play therapist tonight.

The muffled sounds of the small crowd from outside start to fade. _clearing the hallway_ , Rudy texts. _downstairs if u need me_.

Brad seems to be listening to the action in the hallway. A while after the last noises fade, he stands up, swaying in place a little. “Okay,” he says, nodding at the door.

Ray’s surprised by how easy it was, which should really have been a warning sign. When he goes to reach past Brad and open the door, Brad crowds him up against the wall, curling his hands over Ray’s shoulders and pressing his mouth to Ray’s.

He’s a good kisser. Warm soft lips, a hint of tongue, and Ray’s responding without even thinking about it, leaning up to kiss Brad back. It’s been a while, honestly, and Brad’s shockingly good at this, considering how drunk he is. Brad makes a noise against Ray’s mouth and tugs at Ray’s shirt, sliding a hand under it and touching Ray’s stomach. The shock of cold fingers surprises Ray, and he focuses long enough to pull away.

He pushes Brad back against the sink and steps away. Brad moves to follow, and Ray points a finger at him warningly, trying to fumble up some words.

“No,” he finally comes up with. “We talked about this already. I am not being your flavor of the week.”

“But you’re --” Brad says, reaching out to -- Ray’s not even sure. Fold Ray’s finger down, maybe, like that’ll change his mind.

“Nope,” Ray says. “No make-outs. I’m not --”

Before Ray can even react, Brad’s pushing him back into the wall, pushing his outstretched hand up over his head and leaning in close.

“You’re not?” he asks, coaxing, his free hand trailing down Ray’s side.

It takes Ray a long moment to remember what Brad’s even talking about, and why this is such a bad idea in the first place. By the time he catches up, Brad’s dipping his head down closer to Ray’s.

“I’m not,” Ray breathes out, right over Brad’s lips. Brad stops. Then he’s backing away and opening the door.

“I’m ready to go home,” he says. And then he’s out the door and starting off down the hallway, looking back to make sure Ray’s following.

They’re only a few blocks from home, and Brad isn’t quite walking a straight line, but he’s steady enough on his feet that Ray feels okay about walking back. They say bye to the others and head out.

Neither of them says anything on the way back. At first, Ray thinks Brad’s pretending it didn’t happen. But he catches Brad looking at him, and when they turn onto their street, he drifts closer, bumping Ray’s elbow with his.

Upstairs, Brad kisses Ray’s cheek and disappears into his room. Ray goes to bed feeling baffled in an inexplicably good way.

 

*

 

Ray’s out of the house for most of Saturday. When he comes home that night, Stafford and Rudy are three hours into a CSI: Miami marathon. He grabs something to eat and joins them. They’re mostly only paying enough attention to laugh at the one-liners right before the credits and to find out who the killer is at the end. They still stay up until two in the morning, talking about random shit and trying to decide if they should move to a house with more bathrooms when their lease is up in May.

Ray wakes up a little later than usual on Sunday, and Brad’s already in the den when he goes downstairs. He sits on the floor with a bowl of cereal and spreads notecards out over the carpet while Brad reads.

It’s strangely comfortable, none of the awkwardness that Ray was worried about. Kissing is a weekend thing, apparently, and that means Brad’s going to leave it on Fridays with his heartbreak and hanger-throwing urges. Or maybe Brad just doesn’t remember, but Ray doesn’t think he was quite that drunk. Either way, it makes things easier. If they don’t talk about it, Brad won’t have to tell Ray he only kissed him because he was drunk, and Ray won’t have to laugh it off.

 

*

 

On Thursday, Brad finds out via Facebook that his ex-girlfriend and ex-best friend have moved in together. Apparently they posted a million pictures of them doing couple-y things around their new apartment, and Brad sat in the living room with his laptop and clicked through every single one. Ray can see the shitstorm coming from a mile away, but Friday night starts out even worse than he expected.

When he gets to Sigma Phi, the party’s already in full swing, and Brad is at the center of it. There’s a cluster of empty shot glasses on the table in front of him, and a half naked blond guy is holding a full one up to his lips. Brad knocks it back, and Blond Guy feeds him a lime. With his mouth.

“Back to Plan A, I guess,” Lilley says, coming up next to Ray.

“How long has he been here?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take. I think this whole room wants to go home with him, except for us!”

Ray carefully does not comment. “I can keep an eye out, if you wanna,” Ray says, nodding toward the pretty red-head he’s seen Lilley talking to the past few weekends.

“Thanks, brah,” Lilley says. “Stafford’s around, too, if you need anything!”

It goes on like that for a while, shots and making out and people losing items of clothing. Ray looks away to respond to a text from Stafford, asking if Ray can drive his car back to the house so he doesn’t get a ticket while he’s getting laid. When he looks back up, Brad has lost his shirt and both his shoes.

Then somebody jumps into the pool in the backyard, and everyone in the room who’s not too drunk to get up runs to join. Stafford yells Ray’s name from halfway down the stairs and tosses his keys down. “Be safe! Make good choices!” Ray yells after him. Stafford flips him off on his way back up the stairs. When Ray looks back over at the couch, Brad is trying to stand up.

“Hey, hey,” Ray says, running over to duck under Brad’s arm, helping him up. “I don’t think the pool is a good idea.”

“I’m ready to go,” Brad says. “Can you take me home?”

Which, okay. Not Plan A after all. Or Plan B. Ray can work with this.

They manage to find Brad’s shoes, but his shirt has disappeared. He gets Brad out into Stafford’s hatchback without either of them face-planting, which seems like a pretty big accomplishment. Brad’s hands stray a little on the walk to the car, but not far enough for Ray to say anything. He’s a little distracted, anyway, by the heat of Brad’s skin where Ray’s arm is wrapped around him.

Getting upstairs at the house is a little trickier, but they manage it. He deposits Brad on his bed and goes to get him a glass of water. When he gets back, Brad has his shoes off again and is trying to wriggle out of his jeans without sitting up. Ray helps him out of them, which is clearly a mistake, because then Brad’s spread out on the bed in nothing but a pair of black briefs.

Ray gets a little distracted by Brad’s hipbones. And his abs. And his tan line. Brad makes a intrigued sound, and when Ray jerks his eyes up to Brad’s face, Brad is looking back at him, eyes knowing.

“Just -- c’mere, drink something before you pass out,” Ray says, reaching for the water he’d set on the nightstand. Brad holds his hands out, and Ray pulls him up, sitting next to him on the bed.

Brad uses the momentum to move in close, and before Ray can react, he’s tasting salt and lime, Brad’s tongue brushing over his. Brad pulls away first, and Ray follows him without even thinking about it. Brad looks so pleased Ray can’t even stand it.

“Drink your water,” he says, nudging Brad’s trash can closer to the bed with one foot and handing Brad the glass. Brad takes it and starts drinking, watching Ray over the rim. Ray makes himself head for the door.

“Goodnight, Ray,” Brad says. Ray clicks the light off.

 

*

 

The five of them go out for dinner on Saturday night, and Ray’s still looking for any oh-shit-I-got-drunk-and-kissed-Ray-(again) vibes from Brad. Awkwardness, or avoidance, maybe. But if anything, Brad’s more friendly, picking the seat next to Ray and bumping up against him companionably while they eat.

Ray doesn’t get it, but then he realizes that Brad probably doesn’t remember last night. Someone must have told him that Ray was the one who got him home safe, and this is some weird Brad Colbert expression of gratitude for making sure he didn’t drown in the pool or get lost walking home. Once he figures that out, he relaxes a little. Bumping his shoulder back against Brad’s isn’t going to freak him out.

On Sunday, it’s unseasonably warm out, and Lilley takes them all mini-golfing. Ray is really, seriously awful at mini-golf, so he tries to beg off and stay home, but the guys refuse to let him. He spends an hour embarrassing himself in front of miniature windmills and shit, but he still ends up having an awesome time.

 

*

 

The next weekend, one of the weekenders at the diner goes out of town, so Ray takes the six am Saturday shift. That means staying in on Friday night and getting up before it’s even light out on Saturday. When he gets home at three on Saturday afternoon, he comes upstairs to find Brad passed out on his bed.

“Hey, sorry! He didn’t puke in your bed or anything, did he?” Stafford asks, leaning out of his own doorway. “We decided not to move him. Thought he needed to sleep it off, ya know? Things got hella crazy last night.”

Ray doesn’t see any puke, thankfully. Brad’s fully clothed, minus shoes, but Ray has a weird feeling that none of what he’s wearing actually belongs to him. Well, the pants are about six inches too short, so they definitely don’t. There’s also, upon closer inspection, an electric-razor-sized stripe buzzed into one side of Brad’s head.

“Define ‘crazy,’” Ray says. Brad’s knuckles look bruised.

“Nobody died!” Lilley says cheerfully, coming up the stairs. “Or got pregnant!”

Ray snorts. “What, so he hooked up with a guy?”

“Nah, brah, he didn’t get laid,” Lilley says.

“Just punched a wall for no reason and disappeared,” Stafford adds. “We couldn’t find him for like, four hours, and he was being an asshole and not answering his phone.”

“Apparently he ended up at four other parties after we lost him,” Lilley says, looking a little impressed.

“Yeah, and then he walked his ass home,” Stafford says. “We finally gave up on finding him, and when we got home, he was passed out in here.”

“Hey, are we sure he’s alive?” Lilley asks, looking over Ray’s shoulder at Brad.

“He’s breathing,” Ray says. “He’s just gonna wish he was dead.”

Almost on cue, Brad’s eyes open. He squints at the three of them, and then gets up and lurches out of the room without a word. A few seconds later, there’s the sound of puking in the bathroom down the hall.

An hour later, Ray’s studying in the den when Brad comes downstairs and walks right out the front door. He’s wearing running gear. Ray stares after him in disbelief. Hungover and working out. Like he wasn’t already punishing himself enough.

Brad doesn’t say a word to Ray the rest of the weekend. It’s weird compared to how they’ve been lately, but Ray doesn’t realize it’s happening until he’s finished lunch and all his assigned reading for the next week, and Brad still hasn’t shown up to study. He can’t really ask if Brad’s mad at him, because he’s not in junior high. Does he need to apologize? But for what? It’s not like he could have come out and still made it through work on Saturday.

He has two papers due on Wednesday, so he’s in the library a lot at the beginning of the week. He mostly comes back to the house to eat and sleep. The guys are all watching a movie in the living room when he gets back on Tuesday night. He heads for the stairs, but Stafford pauses the movie and turns to look at him.

“Dude, what’s up with you? Are you turning into last semester Ray again?”

Ray shifts his backpack higher on his shoulder. “No, I just --”

“You’ve been gone all week,” Lilley chimes in.

“And you didn’t come out on Friday night,” Rudy says, something pointed in his voice. Next to him, Brad’s turned halfway around, not looking up.

“I had work on Saturday,” Ray says. “Six am shift, I had to get up at five-thirty.”

“You should’ve told us!” Lilley says. “We could’ve gone to dinner or something, so you could’ve come.”

Oh. “Sorry,” Ray says. “I didn’t think about it, I guess.”

“Tell us next time, okay?” Rudy says. He shoots a glance at Brad, and then jerks his eyes back to Ray, looking almost guilty. Brad keeps looking at the couch.

“So you’ve been working?” Stafford prompts.

“No, just Saturday. I just have two papers due tomorrow, I’ve been at the library a lot.”

“Ah,” Rudy says, like it’s not enough of an explanation.

“I was here on Sunday,” Ray says. “I studied in the den for like three hours.”

He’s looking at Brad when he says it, and that’s when Brad finally looks up. “Did you finish?” he asks.

“What?” Ray is lost.

“Your papers,” Brad says, no inflection in his voice.

“I have a conclusion to finish,” Ray says. He’s pretty sure it’s obvious from _his_ voice that he’s wondering when Brad’s going to stop being a dick. “And then proofreading and stuff.”

“I’m pretty good with proofreading,” Brad says. Then he just looks at Ray expectantly.

Such a dick. “You don’t wanna finish the movie?” Ray asks, because he can’t say anything he actually wants to say, like _what_ or _I’m glad we’re making up two minutes after I finally figured out what this fight was about_.

Brad just says, “Already seen it,” gets up, and heads into the den.

The four of them stare after him. Ray makes a face, because seriously, and follows Brad.

 

*

 

That weekend, he’s working the evening shift on Saturday, so he goes out on Friday. Lilley has a date, so the rest of them pile into Stafford’s car and drive across campus to one of the sororities. Brad’s out the door the second they’re stopped. Stafford hands Ray his keys once they’re in the door, because Ray has apparently officially become Brad’s minder.

“Text if you need us!” Rudy says, and then they disappear in opposite directions.

Ray gets a drink and mingles for a while. It’s still kind of early, so the house isn’t packed yet. He talks to people from a few of his classes, and one of his TAs from fall semester, who’s already plastered and won’t stop trying to pet Ray’s hair.

“Do you want a brownie?” he asks, eyes huge. “They’ve got nuts in them. And pot. Don’t tell anyone, but they’ve got pot in them. Do you want one?”

“No thanks,” Ray says. He’s trying to back away, but Dave won’t let go of his arm.

“But they’re delicious,” Dave says, leaning in even closer. “ _Delicious_.”

“I’m allergic to nuts,” Ray lies. “Really allergic. Even breathing near them could put me in the hospital.”

“Oh god,” Dave says. He throws the bag of brownies across the room and stumbles backward. “I was almost a murderer!” he shouts to the room at large.

Ray makes his escape while Dave is distracted. “A _murderer_!” he hears Dave repeating as he rounds the corner to freedom.

He finds Brad on the deck behind the house, a crowd of people around him. He’s chasing a shot with a pull from a can of PBR, and three different people offer him another shot before he’s even set the bottle down.

Ray sits on the edge of the deck, dangling his feet over the side and nursing his beer. The noise behind him rises and falls a few times, and then fades away completely. When he turns around, most of the crowd has disappeared, but Brad’s off the deck, crossing the lawn toward Ray.

He’s lost his beer, but he has shot in a little plastic cup in one hand. He stops in front of Ray and knocks it back; Ray hands him his own beer without really thinking. Brad takes a drink and sets the cup next to Ray on the deck.

“Hey,” Brad says. He leans in to nudge the cup away from the edge of the deck. He loses his balance, tipping forward until he’s almost in Ray’s lap. Ray catches him, tipping him back onto his feet, but Brad doesn’t move away. He’s still a little taller than Ray, even with Ray sitting up on the deck, and he’s close enough that Ray can feel him breathing. Brad’s swaying a little in place, leaning into Ray’s hands where Ray’s still holding him up.

“Good night?” Ray asks. He pokes at Brad’s side when Brad doesn’t answer. Brad turns, looking at Ray from inches away, curious. Ray tries not to move. “Good night, so far?” he asks again.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Brad says earnestly, which isn’t the answer Ray was expecting.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, just for something to say. Brad reaches out instead of answering, trying to wrap his arms around Ray’s neck but tilting sideways instead of forward. Ray wraps an arm around his ribs to keep him from falling. “Whoa, whoa, hey. Wanna sit down?”

They get Brad up on the deck somehow, and he immediately wraps both arms around Ray under the pretense of stealing Ray’s beer. He takes a drink, leaning in so his face is close to Ray’s again. Ray puts an arm around Brad’s shoulders, just to make sure he doesn’t fall off the deck.

“Are you tired?” Brad asks. He tips his head back to look at Ray. “We can go if you’re tired.”

Ray shrugs the shoulder Brad’s not leaning on. “I’m okay. I can sleep in tomorrow. Are _you_ tired?”

Brad hmm’s. “I’m going to finish this,” he decides, wiggling Ray’s cup.

“You mean my beer?” Ray says. He’s teasing, but Brad looks at the cup, alarmed.

“Is this yours?” he asks, making to hand it back. Ray takes a drink and puts it back in Brad’s hand.

“Yours now,” he says. Brad settles back against him.

They leave when Brad finishes his beer. The car’s only half a block away, and they make it there and back to the house without incident. Getting Brad up the stairs isn’t easy, even with Brad helping, but eventually he’s got Brad in his room, trash can by the bed.

“I need to brush my teeth,” Brad announces suddenly, disappearing down the hall. He pisses without closing the door, washes his hands, and brushes his teeth while Ray waits in the bedroom.

“Okay,” Brad says when he comes back in. He crosses to Ray and sort of stumbles them both back into the wall, planting his lips on Ray’s.

It’s clumsy at first, minty but too wet and uncoordinated. Brad pulls back and starts again, a hot slow press of lips and tongue that has Ray melting back against the wall. He shouldn’t do this, and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself from responding.

There’s a noise downstairs, maybe Lilley coming back from his date. It’s enough to make Brad pull back for a second, enough for Ray to breathe and push Brad back a step. He clears his throat, ready to apologize, but Brad just grins.

“Goodnight, Ray,” he says. He steps sideways and sort of rolls onto his bed, wriggling under the covers.

 

*

 

The next couple weeks are uneventful. One of Ray’s co-workers at the diner quits without notice, but Poke finds a replacement in a matter of days. Ray rolls in bleary-eyed one Saturday morning and finds a dark-haired girl giving Mr. Landry, their only asshole regular, a talking to about his manners. Her name is Rosie, and she is five-foot-nothing and sort of terrifying. Ray loves her immediately.

Midterms start looming, and all of them kind of take it easy on the weekends. Lilley has his second and third dates with the girl he’s been seeing. Rudy takes over one wall of the den with rows of sticky notes for his semester project in one of his classes. Ray has his first official advisory meeting with Professor Fick, and they talk about Ray’s classes for ten minutes and about the Bourne movies for twenty.

Even Brad seems to calm down a little as the semester goes on. He finally de-friends his ex and former best friend on Facebook, which is an exciting day for the entire house. He comes into Ray’s room one Tuesday morning, having apparently decided that they’re going running together. He does it that Thursday, too, and he keeps doing it, until Ray’s ready at 8 a.m. without Brad having to wake him up.

Brad takes his partying down a few notches, too, the closer they get to midterms. He drinks as fast as ever, but he starts finding Ray earlier, slinging an arm around his shoulders and announcing that he’s ready to go home.

He still finds a way to pin Ray up against a wall at the end of the night, and Ray hasn’t gotten any better at resisting. He could drop Brad at his room and leave, but he always ends up lingering. And leaving the party earlier means Brad is less drunk, so he’s more in control. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and Ray can’t seem to resist.

The weekend before midterms, the party they go to is just down the street. Ray’s done with the paper and project he has due next week, and he’s pretty confident about his upcoming tests. He blows off some steam by having a handful of drinks instead of just a couple. He’s just past tipsy when it comes time to walk Brad home, and the next thing he knows, they’re upstairs, and they’ve moved from the wall to Brad’s bed, and Brad’s hands are sliding up Ray’s shirt.

“Wait,” Ray says against Brad’s mouth. “Wait, wait, I can’t --”

Brad pulls back right away, sitting back on his heels and starting to apologize. Ray follows him up, shaking his head.

“No, no,” he says, “it’s -- I was --” and he’s kissing Brad again, instead of getting up and leaving like a sane person. “‘m sorry, I shouldn’t -- you’re drunk, and I’m crazy, I don’t --”

Brad kisses him, probably just to shut him up, and then lays back down. Ray just barely resists the urge to follow him.

 

*

 

Ray’s midterms are nowhere near as bad as they were fall semester. He has three tests, one of which is open book. The whole house has an almost easy time of it this semester, except for Brad. He has four tests, and one of them is worth 40% of his grade. Rays not sure if he’ll get as drunk as ever on Friday to celebrate being done, or if he’ll take the weekend off for once to catch up on all the sleep he’s been missing.

Friday, after they’re all done, the plan is dinner at Chipotle and then hitting up a series of house parties. They don’t even make it to Chipotle, though. Ray and Lilley come into the kitchen to find Brad downing a shot of vodka while Rudy tries to pull the bottle away from him.

“What’s going on?” Lilley asks.

“They got married,” Brad says, stony and calm. “They went to Vegas and now they’re married.”

Jesus. Drinking it is. What the fuck is wrong with the people Brad went to high school with?

“Are you sure it’s not, like, a joke?” Lilley asks. “Maybe they changed their statuses to be funny.”

“There are pictures,” Brad says. He gets the bottle back from Rudy long enough to take a drink straight from the bottle. “They have rings and a marriage certificate and I hate them.”

They decide that getting Brad drunk immediately takes priority over burritos. Since it’s midterms week, the first party they hit up is already in full swing when they get there at eight. Brad disappears into the crowd, and it pretty much all goes downhill from there.

Ray’s driving, like usual, but none of them has more than a drink or two. They’re all just waiting for the shit to hit the fan. Brad’s having enough for all of them, but all the alcohol has somehow transported him to an alternate plane of reality. He’s dancing shirtless on top of a pool table, surrounded by screaming drunk people in similar states of undress. Someone shakes a beer bottle in the air, sending beer and foam all over the crowd. Brad throws his arms up in the air, cheering.

The party drags on. Ray waits for Brad to pass out or come find him. Around midnight, after four straight hours of Brad inhaling drinks and having what looks like the time of his life, a switch gets flipped. Brad does a shot of tequila and chases it with the lips of the blonde who’s grinding on him. And then the brunette on his other side. And then the brunette’s boyfriend.

Five minutes later, Brad leads all three of them upstairs. Ray watches them go, worry and confusion churning in his stomach. He thought they were past this stage. Stafford’s coming through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, and he looks up after Brad, shaking his head. He crosses the room to Ray.

“What the fuck, dude,” he says. “I thought our boy was done fucking around.”

“Guess not,” Ray says, taking a drink to cover the tightness in his throat.

“Aw, shit. You okay, son?” Stafford asks, eyes all concerned, like it’s Ray making bad choices and not Brad.

“‘m fine,” Ray says. “Think I’m gonna head out, though. You okay to drive?”

Stafford holds up his cup. “Beer number two. Kinda thought we’d be carrying Colbert home. You go on, I’ll see ya tomorrow. Text me when you get back, aight?”

Ray gives him the keys and heads home. It’s a walk, but he could use the air.

 

*

 

The next morning, Ray goes for a run, showers at the campus rec center, and goes to work on a project outline at the library. He stops at home just long enough to change into work clothes. He’s half an hour early to the diner, but they’re busy, so Poke starts him on a couple tables.

He gets home after eleven that night, and the house is empty. He forgot to grab his phone when he came home to change, and he has four texts and a voicemail. There’s one text each from Rudy, Lilley, and Stafford; they went to a party, but Lilley drove them all, so Stafford’s car is there in case Ray needs it. The other text and the voicemail are from Brad.

The text was sent about an hour ago, and it’s a mess of typos and failed auto-correct. Ray sort of wants to delete the voicemail without listening, but there’s a chance the text was drunk Brad’s attempt to tell him someone fell down a well or something. And Brad just called ten minutes ago, so Ray makes himself listen, just in case.

There’s a long stretch of static, and then the noise fades in. Music, people talking, something that might be a door closing or something falling down.

“Ray,” Brad says over the noise. “Rayyy, pick up your phone.”

There’s a pause. Someone yells something in the background.

“No, I’m talking to Ray,” Brad says, voice fading out and then getting louder again. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t have anybody to get married to. But... I don’t want to get married. Do you think that’s why?”

There’s another long pause, like he’s waiting for an answer.

“I’m really --” There’s a weird rush of noise, and then the background noise fades out. “--hungry. And I lost everyone. Everyone’s inside. Except you.” Brad breathes into the phone for a few seconds. “Okay, bye.”

The line goes dead just as Ray’s phone buzzes with a new text from Brad. _can go home now_ , it says, which almost makes sense. _5 mins. wait there_ , Ray sends back.

The drive only takes two, but Ray walks through half the weird overgrown garden behind the house before he finds Brad sitting by the tool shed. He’s half asleep, but he smiles up at Ray as Ray gets closer.

“Ray Person,” he says. “I found you.”

“Yep, you did,” Ray says. “You ready to go?”

Brad holds up his arms instead of answering, still holding his phone in one hand. Ray gets him on his feet in record time -- he’s apparently had entirely too much practice -- and steers him carefully toward the car.

He makes the mistake of leaning Brad up against the car to dig in his pocket for the keys. Brad slides sideways and onto the ground, phone coming out of his hand and skidding across the grass. Ray gets them both into the car without any other fuck-ups. He sets Brad’s phone in his lap, pulling the seatbelt across his chest and buckling him in.

“I lost my phone,” Brad says mournfully. This might be the drunkest Ray’s ever seen him. It’s a little alarming.

“No, it’s right here,” Ray says, pointing to where he set the phone in Brad’s lap. He pulls out his own phone, sending out a quick text to the others so they know where Brad is. “It’s in your lap, see?”

“I know, but it was gone,” Brad says. And then, switching topics entirely, “Can we get Taco Bell?”

All the fast food places Ray knows are on the other side of campus. They’re two minutes from the diner, though, which is open for another three hours tonight.

“You gonna stay awake long enough for food?” Ray asks. Poke would probably help Ray carry a passed-out Brad to the car, but getting him into the house would be a problem.

“Yes,” Brad says decisively. “I had Red Bull.”

He’s usually weirdly right about when he’s going to pass out, so Ray takes his word for it and makes the turn toward the diner. He parks in the closest spot to the door and comes around to Brad’s side of the car. Brad has his eyes closed, and when Ray tries to pull him to his feet, he pulls his hands away, frowning up at Ray.

“Drive-thru,” Brad says. “No walking.”

“We’re not at TBell, dumbass, come on.” He pulls on Brad’s arms until he leans forward enough for Ray to pull him up. Ray ducks under his arm and walks them both to the door.

Rosie looks annoyed at yet another drunk person walking in, until she sees Ray.

“Sup, Person!” she calls. “What brings you back here? Babysitting duties?”

“I volunteer to take over!” Belle calls from the counter, where she’s pouring coffee. Brad’s head comes up, like he’s got an alert for when people are flirting with him. He looks at Belle, perplexed. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take good care of you!” she yells, and Brad breaks into giggles as Ray steers him to an empty booth.

He settles Brad on one side and moves to the other, but three-sheets-to-the-wind levels of drunk aren’t enough to slow Brad’s grabby hands.

“Sit with me,” he says, fingers wrapped around Ray’s wrist. “Tell me what t’get.”

Ray gives in and slides into the booth next to Brad. “What are you hungry for?”

“Tacos,” Brad says, fiddling with the silverware.

“We don’t have tacos, we’re at the diner, remember?”

Brad’s gaze swings up to Ray’s. “You work here,” he says, like he’s just figured it out.

“Yep.”

Rosie comes up to take their order just then, pulling her pen out from behind her ear.

“Ray works here, does that mean our food is free?” Brad asks, looking up at her with big hopeful doe eyes.

“Yes,” she tells him, mimicking his serious tone. “Do you want some water?”

“Waterrr,” Brad repeats. He flips a page on the menu, but Ray’s pretty sure he’s only looking at the pictures.

“Yes,” Ray answers for him. “Lots of water, please. Hey. Hey, Brad, what do you want?”

“You pick,” Brad says, sounding like he’s completely confident that whatever Ray picks will be awesome.

Ray looks at him, considering his options. Something to soak up some of the booze, but Brad needs to eat all of it for that to work, and it can’t be anything that’ll make him more likely to puke.

“Okay, let’s do the Southwest omelette for him.”

“Salsa?” Rosie asks, sounding skeptical.

“Point. Nah, no salsa.”

“With?”

“Bacon. And hash browns, please.”

“‘Kay,” Rosie says, scribbling it down on her note pad. “And for you, sir?” she asks, lightly mocking.

“What wine do you recommend with the BLT?” Ray asks, playing along.

“Our finest red, sir. Shall I bring you a glass?”

“Yes, excellent.”

She takes their menus, smacking Ray on the head with them before she goes. She’s back in a minute with two glasses and a full pitcher of water. Ray pours them each a glass and folds Brad’s hands around his, waiting to talk until Brad starts drinking.

“How were midterms?” Ray asks, starting with a relatively safe topic.

Brad shrugs a shoulder, leaning in to Ray’s side. “Shitty. Think I passed.” He blinks, licking his lips. “Were yours bad?”

“Easier than last semester, at least.”

“‘Cause you’re not taking aaalll the classes anymore,” Brad teases.

“Yeah, that was kinda stupid, huh.”

“No, you’re really smart,” Brad says, which isn’t what Ray said, but.

“Tell me more,” he prompts, and Brad laughs, swinging his arm up and laying it over Ray’s shoulders and the back of the booth.

“I like talking t’you,” he says, in what he probably thinks is a whisper. “You’re smart an’ you’re funny an’ you drive me home.”

Ray’s about to laugh it off and change the subject when Brad keeps talking.

“Even when ’m bein’ an asshole,” he says, which is getting way too close to actually talking about things. But fuck it, honestly, it’s not like Brad’s going to remember this tomorrow.

“You were kind of an asshole,” Ray agrees. Brad slumps against him, pressing his face between Ray’s shoulder and the booth and making sad noises. Ray tugs him out, shaking his head. “No, it’s -- I mean, it’s not fine, ‘cause that was kind of a dick move, but. You know, you had a bad week, and you’re done now. Right?”

“Right,” Brad says firmly.

“So we’re okay.” Brad looks unconvinced. “You can make it up to me if you want. Buy me dinner or something, since I’m getting you free food. Whatever.”

“I will,” Brad promises. He won’t, since Ray’s assuming he’ll be missing a good chunk of time from tonight’s memories, but it’s the thought that counts.

Their food comes, and Brad makes orgasmic noises over his first bite of omelette. Rosie stayed by their table to chat, and she and Ray stare as Brad licks his fork.

“You chose well,” Rosie tells Ray, setting a bottle of ketchup down by Ray’s plate.

They hang out for a while after they’re done eating, talking about nothing and letting Rosie and Belle tease them from across the diner. It’s around one thirty when Brad tugs at the collar of Ray’s shirt and announces that he’s going to sleep in twenty minutes.

“He means it,” Ray says when Belle raises an eyebrow at the pronouncement.

“When I’m drunk I can see the future,” Brad says, trying to keep a straight face but falling into giggles halfway through his sentence.

The trip out to the car is easier, now that Brad’s had food and water and time to sober up a little. Back at the house, Brad pulls Ray into a hug outside his bedroom. Ray tries not to lean into him too much -- he’s pretty sure Brad would fall over and take Ray with him -- but he lets his eyes close and just kind of hangs out there for a while. Brad is warm, and Ray is sleepy and happy, even after the shitty week they’ve had.

He pulls back eventually -- they’re getting close to the end of that twenty minutes -- and tilts his head up without thinking. Brad kisses him lightly, and they both pull away at the same time. He makes sure Brad’s tucked in with a trash can by his head and goes out into the hallway.

“Thanks,” Brad says softly. When Ray looks back, he’s already passed out.

 

*

 

Sunday afternoon, Rudy looks on with concern as Ray comes into the kitchen. Brad’s hunched over a plate on the island, inhaling a piece of toast. Rudy glances between them like he’s expecting a blow-up, or at least some tension. After Friday night, it would make sense, but after last night, Ray’s fine. He hopes Brad remembers enough to know they’re okay. He slides around the island, brushing past Brad, who gives him a grunt and a nod, reaching for his glass of OJ. There’s an Eggo waffle left on Brad’s plate, but it’s dry. They’ve been out of syrup for at least a month, and no one ever remembers to add it to the grocery list.

When no one starts crying or throwing punches, Rudy relaxes and takes his cereal into the living room, where Ray can hear an xBox battle already starting. Brad’s poking at his waffle, which is probably cold by now.

Ray cracks open the fridge. There’s some OJ left, and there are eggs, cheese, onions, and a red and green pepper. He’s got a generous helping of scrambled eggs done before Stafford even starts losing badly enough for his trash talk to carry into the kitchen.

He dumps the eggs onto a plate and sets it on the island next to Brad. Brad pushes his old plate away, holding out a hand for Ray to put a fork into.

“You’re disgusting,” Brad says when Ray adds ketchup to his own half of the plate, but he says it fondly, and doesn’t object when Ray lands a squirt of ketchup on his half.

They both shower and meet up in the den to study. An hour later, Ray’s done with all his reading, and Brad’s finished both his problem sets. It’s all they have due for the week, and they’re done. They crash the party in the living room, where Stafford’s trying to reclaim his dignity from Lilley.

 

*

 

The rest of the week goes the same way. After midterms, their professors all seem to be giving them a little time off before projects and tests start up again. By Thursday, Ray feels fully relaxed for the first time in weeks. They order pizza and marathon ‘80s action movies that night. Lilley skips out in favor of another date with Chelsea, but the rest of them stay up late in the living room. Ray falls asleep on Brad’s shoulder midway through Rambo. He wakes up in the same position three hours later, the TV dark and the house quiet.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Brad’s shoulder. Brad comes awake with a start, settling when he sees Ray. “We should go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Brad says, voice hoarse from sleep. He leans in closer, almost like -- but then he’s pulling back and standing up, and Ray probably imagined it, anyway.

 

*

 

That next week is spring break, and they all have plans to go somewhere. Rudy’s meeting up with some friends from high school for a hiking trip. Ray, Lilley, and Stafford are all going home for the week. And Brad’s going back to France to visit his host family from when he studied abroad. Lilley drives him to the airport on Friday afternoon.

Ray flies out on Saturday morning, and he spends the week eating his mom’s cooking pretty much non-stop. His mom guilts him in to doing chores, so he doesn’t spend the entire time sitting on the couch, but it’s still an entire week off. It’s over way too fast, though, and pretty soon he’s on a plane back to California.

When he gets back on Saturday, Lilley and Rudy are already there. They all go to pick up Stafford and Brad at the airport the next day, since their flights get in within a half hour of each other. They grab a late lunch and head back to the house.

Brad stays up long enough to study in the den for a couple of hours. The week away seems like it was good for him. He’s so jet lagged he almost falls asleep in the middle of a problem set, but he seems more relaxed than Ray’s seen him sober in months.

 

*

 

That week is a little weird, all of them adjusting to being back in classes after a week off. But things on Friday night are back to normal. They all go out, to another party that’s a few blocks from the house. Lilley hangs out with him for a while, but the others disappear. Ray starts in on his drink, half listening to Lilley worrying about where to take Chelsea on their next date. She shows up with her friends a while later, and Lilley gives Ray a wave and heads over.

Ray’s thinking about making friends with the people on the couch next to him -- one of them just dropped an obscure Ninja Turtles reference, and the other two both got it -- when Brad comes up next to him, settling against the wall.

“Hey,” he says. He’s halfway through a beer, and he slides sideways into Ray a little, but he doesn’t seem too drunk. Not yet, anyway.

“Hi. You’re not done already, are you?” It hasn’t even been an hour yet.

“No,” Brad says, taking a drink. “Just saying hey.”

Ray would really, really like to pretend that he doesn’t know exactly what Brad’s doing, and that it doesn’t make him as happy as it does.

“Okay,” he says, leaning into Brad where he’s settled against Ray’s side. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Brad says back. He taps the rim of his cup against Ray’s and heads off across the room.

He checks in every hour or so for the rest of the night. Around midnight, he hits peak drunkenness; the next time Ray sees him, he’s cupless. Ray’s in the kitchen, talking to the people from the couch about Legends of the Hidden Temple. Brad darts past the kitchen door and then back, swinging through the doorway and over to Ray’s stool.

“Heyyy,” he says, coming up behind Ray and wrapping both arms around his chest. He sways backward, and Ray puts a hand on his elbow, steadying him.

“Hey, you wanna go?” Ray asks, tapping his fingers on Brad’s arm.

“Hmm,” Brad says. “No.”

The conversation picks up again, although there are pauses for raised eyebrows and suggestive looks that Brad doesn’t notice and Ray ignores. They’re talking about DisneyLand when Brad shifts, arms loosening. Ray grabs his open water bottle off the table and hands it to him. Brad leans back a little to drink, and Ray’s hand tightens where it’s somehow ended up on his wrist.

The rest of the table has gone quiet. Jess, who lives down the street, is looking at Ray’s hand, lips quirked in amusement. Her brother is blatantly watching Brad drink, and his friend is looking between Ray and Brad, curious.

“Are you guys, like,” Ethan says. “Um...”

Brad is holding the bottle up in front of Ray’s mouth. “D’you want some?” he asks. Ray can’t tell if he’s actually oblivious or just too far into the getting-ready-to-leave stage to care. He wiggles the bottle invitingly, and Ray takes it and takes a drink. Behind him, Brad leans into him more, until his chin is hooked over Ray’s shoulder. “Time ‘s it?” he mumbles into Ray’s t-shirt.

Ray’s fumbling for his phone when Jess clears her throat and says, “It’s, uh -- shit, it’s almost one. We should head out.”

They all exchange numbers, and Jess’s brother, Reilly, offers to help take Brad home. Ray politely declines -- he’s handled Brad when he’s far more drunk than this -- and they all go their separate ways.

“Are you going to text them?” Brad asks on the walk back. He’s got one arm slung around Ray’s shoulders. The water bottle’s in his other hand -- Ray refilled it before they left the house, and he told Brad to finish it before they got home. He’s already halfway done.

“Yeah, they seemed cool.”

Brad makes a noncommittal noise. “I think that guy was hitting on you,” he says, like that’s some kind of crime, and also what?

“Which guy?” Ray asks, because maybe he missed someone making lewd gestures or coming onto him via sign language from across the room or something.

“Rick,” Brad says, which is helpful. He takes another drink and then says, “I have to pee,” looking alarmed.

“We’ve only got another block, can you wait? Also, who the fuck is Rick?”

“Nope,” Brad says, shaking his head. He hands Ray the water bottle and steps off the sidewalk, behind a cluster of bushes. “The guy at the table. The one with the hair.”

“Are you talking about Reilly? You think he was hitting on _me_?”

“He wanted to walk you home! And he was _staring_ ,” Brad says, still using that tone of voice like someone ought to do something about the crimes that have been committed.

“No,” Ray says as Brad zips up and comes back to the sidewalk. “No, he was staring, yeah, but at you. And I’m pretty sure he only offered to help walk _you_ home so he’d have an excuse to touch you.”

“He liked you,” Brad insists. “Besides, you’re the one who walks me home.” He takes the water bottle as they round the corner and turn onto their street. He starts drinking like he’s had the last word and the subject is closed.

“You’re crazy,” Ray says. “And I’m not letting your crazy prevent me from hanging out with cool people.”

Brad chucks the now-empty bottle into the recycling bin in their garage. It’s dark, he’s drunk, and the bin is half a dozen yards away. He sinks it without any effort. Ray looks up at him, ready to give him shit about his freaky aim. Brad’s looking after the bottle like it insulted his mother.

“But if he did like me,” Ray continues, pulling out his keys, “it wouldn’t really matter. He was cool, but he’s not my type.”

Inside, Brad crowds him up against the door of the coat closet, looking at him seriously. “What is your type?” he asks.

“You know what my type is,” Ray says, which is far too honest for how sober he is. He barely catches the way Brad’s mouth curls up into a smile before said mouth is on Ray’s. It’s barely even a kiss, more like a peck, and Brad follows it with a few more, teasing. Ray finally gives in and pulls him closer, parting Brad’s lips with his tongue.

Brad rocks closer, mouth warm and slow. He’s not in any hurry, and Ray lets the kiss go on for way longer than he should. Brad slides a hand down, palming his ass. He squeezes, and Ray makes a noise into his mouth, close enough to a moan to startle him into jerking away. Brad pulls back but doesn’t step away. He licks his lips, and Ray can’t help but track the movement.

Ray clears his throat. “I should go to bed,” he manages. He licks his own lips and watches Brad’s eyes follow his tongue.

“Yeah,” Brad says. Neither of them moves for a long moment, and then Brad steps back and Ray makes himself start up the stairs.

 

*

 

Ray has two tests at the end of the next week, so he spends Saturday at the library, highlighting the fuck out of his notes and making eleven different outlines. He doesn’t get back until after eight. There’s an empty Stouffer’s lasagna pan in the kitchen trash, and a Ziploc bag (since they’ve somehow systematically destroyed all their tupperware and never gotten more) in the fridge holding a leftover slice, Ray’s name on the bag in Brad’s handwriting.

He nukes it and takes it into the living room, where Brad’s watching Life After People. Ray sits next to him on the couch, nudging Brad’s knee with his.

“Thanks,” he says. Brad nods, shifting so Ray doesn’t have to sit in the spot where the couch sags.

“Work?” Brad asks on the next commercial break.

Ray shakes his head. “Two tests this week.”

“Suuuck,” Brad says sympathetically. “Library tomorrow?”

“Yup.” Ray finishes the lasagna, setting his plate on the coffee table. “Early, probably.”

“I’ll be up,” Brad says, un-muting the TV as the show starts again. “There’s a marathon, I’m staying in tonight.”

 

*

 

Ray spends most of his free time studying at the library that week, but it’s still not enough. His Thursday test goes fine. The one on Friday doesn’t. It’s way harder than the first test of the semester was -- twice as many questions, fewer easy problems, no multiple choice. He barely finishes on time. He doesn’t have time to recheck most of his answers, which is why he doesn’t realize until he leaves the room that he used the wrong equation on the last page of questions.

Ten percent of his grade in this class is basically free, just points for turning the homework in on time. The rest is split between three tests, which means he just royally fucked up something that’s worth thirty percent of his grade. This could fuck up his scholarship, too, and that could fuck up his entire fucking _life_.

He’s in some sort of oh-christ-what-have-I-done fog the whole way home. No one’s at the house -- Stafford and Lilley both went home for the weekend, Rudy’s working on a group project that’s due Monday, and Brad’s Nikes are gone, so he must be at the gym.

Ray turns on the TV, trying to distract himself. An hour later, all he’s done is freak himself out even more. He goes on Facebook, and someone from his class has already made a “drown your sorrows in booze” event and invited all of them and anyone else they want to bring. It says “come now!” in bold letters. Ray puts his shoes back on and heads out the door.

The party’s just off the other side of campus, but it’s early enough that the buses are still running. He knows that’s a sign of how bad of an idea this is, but he can’t bring himself to care.

At the door, the two girls hosting the party pull him into a group hug. Etta draws a sad face on his hand in blue marker.

“Professor Carlisle is a diiiick,” Mindy yells in his ear. “Do you want a shot?”

They pull back far enough that Ray can see the fifth of Fleischmann’s in Mindy’s hand, and the stack of plastic shot glasses Etta’s holding.

“Yes,” Ray says. Yes, he wants a shot.

“Do a shot!” Etta cheers, and they pour him an overflowing shot and both whoop when he takes it. They refill the glass and cheer after he knocks that back, too. Mindy pulls out a plastic bag full of lime wedges and holds one up. Ray takes it in his teeth, and they pour him one more shot and go running off into the house. He can hear a “we hate Carlisle” chant starting up in the living room.

Ray is sort of a lightweight, honestly, and three shots on an empty stomach get him to the far edge of tipsy. The sad face Etta drew on his hand gets him a free cup and free shots. He’s drunk without even meaning to be. He _wants_ to be, because fuck his entire life right now, but he isn’t really thinking about the shots he’s doing or the beer he’s chugging to chase them.

His first clue that the night has taken a detour into Bad Decision Land is when he falls on his ass on his way into the backyard. Someone helps him up, almost dropping him a couple times, and then someone else jumps into the pool. Which sounds fucking amazing, because Ray is really hot all of a sudden. He sets his drink on a table and heads for the ladder.

There must be water at the edge of the pool, because Ray slips, hitting the water sideways. There’s a second when he’s under and he can’t tell which way is up, but then his hand finds someone’s arm and he’s pulling himself up out of the water.

The shoulder belongs to someone else from Carlisle’s class, who’s holding an almost-empty bottle of something Ray doesn’t recognize.

“Shot?” Greg asks, yelling to be heard over the noise.

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” everyone around them chants. Greg uncaps the bottle, dropping it into the pool, and Ray tilts his head back. Greg pours and pours, until whiskey’s running out the corners of Ray’s mouth. Then the bottle’s gone, and Greg’s licking whiskey off Ray’s cheek. Ray swallows, gasping. Suddenly Greg’s licking sloppily at the corner of Ray’s mouth. Ray jerks away. Greg’s looking at him, hopeful.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Ray enunciates carefully. He makes his way to the edge of the pool and climbs out slowly.

Everything is fuzzy around the edges. And in the middle. Ray’s cup is gone from the table. He goes inside to get another one, but he gets sidetracked somewhere and ends up in someone’s bedroom instead of the kitchen. He pulls the door shut behind him automatically, and then his hands don’t want to work to open it again. He gives up and sits in a chair by the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass.

He doesn’t know how long he’s there before Brad finds him. He hears the door open like it’s farther away than it is. He pulls himself away from the window, and he’s telling his head to keep turning and see who’s walking up behind him, but nothing’s moving.

“Ray?” Brad says. He appears in front of Ray, his face swimming in Ray’s field of vision. Ray groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Brad touches him, one hand on his face and the other on his arm. “Hey, can you look at me?”

Ray cracks his eyes open. “Stop moving,” he pleads, trying to steady Brad like Brad’s steadying him. Brad catches his fingers, holding them.

“It’s time to go, okay?” Brad says. “We’re gonna stand up now.”

He pulls Ray to his feet, wrapping an arm around Ray’s ribs. The world tilts, sways, and rights itself. “Easy, easy,” Brad says.

“How’d you find me?” Ray asks, which is like number seven on the list of things he meant to ask, but it’s all his mouth wants to say.

“You left your Facebook up.” Brad tilts Ray’s head up with one hand, studying his face. He tugs at the collar of Ray’s shirt, where it’s all wet. Stuck to him. “I was wondering why you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Huh?” Ray asks. The door is getting closer. Brad taps Ray’s phone where it’s tucked into his pocket. His wet pocket. Oh. “Oh, fuck. My phone.”

“It’s okay,” Brad says. “We’ll get a new one.”

They pass Mindy on the stairs, and Brad politely declines her offer of a shot. “Fuck Carlisle!” she shouts as a goodbye.

 

*

 

The next thing Ray knows, he’s in Stafford’s car. The passenger seat, which is weird. They’re stopped, but Brad is in the driver’s seat.

“Brad,” Ray says. “No, why are you driving? I should be driving.” Ray squints. The lights in front of him blur. “But I’m drunk,” he says, quiet, so no one but Brad will hear.

“Exactly,” Brad says. He leans out the window. Ray watches him, transfixed. “I’m driving, because you’re drunk and I’m not.”

Brad isn’t drunk. Ray rolls this around in his head, trying to make sense of it. “But it’s Friday,” he says. There’s someone at the window, and Ray jumps, startled. Then the person is gone, and Brad’s setting something in Ray’s lap.

“It is,” he says. “Well, now it’s Saturday, technically. I got you water, okay? It’s here, in your cup holder.”

There’s a cup there, where Brad’s pointing, and there’s a sandwich and a pile of fries in a wrapper on Ray’s lap.

“Where did you get food?” Ray asks. Fuck, he is _starving_. He picks up a handful of fries.

“We’re at Sonic,” Brad says patiently. He waits for Ray to finish chewing and hands him his water. Ray takes a drink as Brad says, “And no, this does not count as the dinner I promised you.”

Ray sputters, dripping water onto his shirt. He swallows and blurts out, “You don’t remember that.”

Brad takes the water back and puts it back in the cup holder, looking amused. “Pretty sure I do.”

Ray is too hungry right then to argue, and before he knows it, his food is gone and then they’re home. He feels bad, because Brad has to basically carry him up the stairs. He’s less dizzy-fuzzy-weird than before he ate, but his legs don’t really want to work.

Brad sits him on his bed and takes off his shoes and jeans. Ray flops back onto the bed, and Brad stands over him for a minute, not moving. Ray squirms a little; his clothes are still wet, and he wants under the blankets where it’s warm. He can’t figure out where the edges of the covers are, though.

“I’m -- I’m putting your trash can by the bed, okay? Right here.” Brad puts it right next to Ray’s bed, and then he helps Ray under the blankets, so he’s lying on his side, facing off the bed. “Yell if you need me, okay?” He brushes Ray’s hair off his forehead. “I’ll come check on you before I go to bed.”

He starts for the door, which is wrong.

“You forgot,” Ray says, reaching a hand out toward him. “I get a goodnight kiss.”

Brad pauses in the doorway and then comes back over, threading his fingers through Ray’s. He drops down so he’s at eye level.

“You still want to do that?” he asks carefully.

“It’s Friday,” Ray says, confused. They always kiss on Fridays. Brad knows that. “Why wouldn’t I --” He figures it out, that Brad is trying to let him down gently and Ray isn’t getting it. “Oh. You’re not -- you don’t want to.” He tries to pull his hand away, but Brad won’t let go. “Sorry.”

Brad’s hand tightens at that. “What?”

“You didn’t drink,” Ray says. “I forgot, we only -- you only want to if -- if it’s like at a party.” He’s saying this wrong. But he doesn’t know why Brad’s looking at him like that. He knows how this works.

“I only -- you think it’s a me being drunk thing?” Brad asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. “You think I only want to kiss you when I’m drunk?”

Ray blinks. “You... do. That’s when it happens. That’s why -- with the stopping. ‘Cause it’s not real, and you won’t remember.”

“Right,” Brad says. “Huh.”

None of this is making any sense. Ray is so confused. Then Brad’s leaning in, which makes more sense, and then his lips are on Ray’s, which makes all the sense in the world.

“Goodnight, Ray,” Brad says softly. Ray is asleep before the door closes.

 

*

 

When Ray wakes up on Saturday afternoon, he’s pretty sure he’s dying. Not dead, because it wouldn’t hurt so much if he were dead. He leans over the side of the bed to puke. Not because he remembers that his trash can is there -- that’s more of an incredibly happy surprise -- but because the bathroom is too far away, and puking on himself is the last thing he needs right now.

He throws up what seems like everything he’s eaten in the last week, including things he doesn’t even remember eating. Then he just lays there, trying to gather the strength to get up.

Once he’s showered, brushed his teeth three times, taken more than the recommended dose of ibuprofen, and eaten something greasy and full of carbs, he feels... about the same, really, minus the urgent need to puke. The house is quiet, at least; Stafford and Lilley won’t be back until tomorrow, and Rudy is nowhere to be found. Brad comes into the kitchen while Ray’s finishing his breakfast.

“Hi,” he says, setting his book down on the island. Ray mumbles a greeting around his fork. “You feel any better?” Ray gives him a what-the-fuck look. Does he _seem_ better? “About the test, I mean.”

Ray blanches, leaning forward until his forehead hits the counter. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “My life is over.”

“Come lay on the couch,” is Brad’s only response. He picks his book up and goes back to the living room.

Ray finishes eating and takes his Gatorade with him to follow Brad. He lays down where Brad directs him, with his feet up on the armrest and his head in Brad’s lap.

“How much do you remember?” Brad asks, one hand massaging Ray’s scalp. It feels fucking amazing.

“Um. I went to a party.” Ray tries to think. He remembers being wet. “Did I go in a pool?”

“Fully clothed,” Brad confirms. “You were still soaked when I found you. And I think your phone might be fucked.”

“Shit. Um, I think I remember being in someone’s room. And then... you brought me home?”

“I got you food first. You insisted that you were starving to death, and I thought it might help. You didn’t seem any less drunk after, though.”

Ray searches his memory. There’s a black hole in the middle of last night, and a chunk of time after that’s mostly one big blur. “I might remember that? It’s all bits and pieces. Thanks for, y’know. Coming to get me and everything.”

“No problem. It’s payback, anyway.” That jogs a memory Ray still can’t quite focus on. Brad keeps talking, and he loses it. “I’m gonna read, if you wanna go back to sleep.”

 

*

 

The next few days aren’t much better. It’s by far the worst hangover Ray’s ever had. On top of that, his phone is toast, and he has to either pay full price or wait a month until his upgrade. He decides to wait; if he loses his scholarship, he’ll need every penny he can get.

Carlisle says they won’t find out their test grades until the following Monday. Ray picks up a couple short shifts at the diner during the week, and by Friday afternoon, all he wants to do is go home and sleep. The guys want to go out to dinner, though, so Ray accepts Lilley’s offer to pick him up from his last class and meet the others at Chili’s.

He’s remembered a little more about last weekend, enough to shy away from the page of burgers. Brad sees him flip past the page and grins across the table at him.

“You remember Sonic?” he asks. Something about the way he says it, or the way he’s looking at Ray, makes Ray remember Brad telling him Sonic didn’t count as him buying Ray dinner. And then he starts remembering more, like the embarrassing shit he’d said to Brad, and then Brad kissing him. Huh. Brad’s waiting for a response, so Ray tries not to think about it.

“I do remember,” Ray says, returning Brad’s grin automatically. The rest of the table looks at them in question. They all know why Ray had an epic hangover on Saturday, so Ray just says, “Brad took me to Sonic on Friday night.”

“Oh,” Lilley says. “Ohhh, yeah, Sonic’s ruined forever. Sorry, dude.”

Ray gets talked into going out with them after dinner. Stafford drives Rudy and Brad over, but Ray and Lilley drive home first; the party’s a five minute walk, so they’re going to drop Lilley’s car off.

The party’s just picking up when they get there. Lilley heads down to the basement to play some beer pong before Chelsea gets there. Ray spots Brad across the living room and makes his way over.

Brad’s with Jess, Ethan, and Reilly. Reilly’s telling a story that has them all engrossed, something about a camping trip. Brad turns when Ray comes up. He smiles, mouthing “hey,” and scoots over so Ray can squeeze in next to him on the couch.

Ray looks down to see how much beer Brad has left, but he’s holding a water bottle instead of a cup. He holds it up when he sees Ray looking, offering. Ray takes a drink and gives it back. Brad’s arm settles around his shoulders, and Ray leans into him, listening to the end of the story.

“And that’s why I don’t eat fish,” Reilly says. The others crack up.

“I’m getting a refill,” Ethan says when the laughter dies down. “Anyone else?” Reilly and Jess hand him their cups, but Brad and Ray shake their heads.

Brad squeezes Ray’s shoulder after Ethan leaves. Ray looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Ready to go?” Brad asks. His gaze flickers over Ray’s face before he meets Ray’s eyes.

Ray feels frozen for a long moment. “Yes,” he finally manages to say. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

They say their goodbyes and walk back to the house. Brad’s arm doesn’t leave Ray’s shoulders.

They end up in Brad’s room out of habit. Brad turns toward him, bringing his other arm up and wrapping both of them around Ray’s neck.

“I’m sober,” he says quietly.

“You’re a dumbass is what you are,” Ray says, leaning up in the circle of Brad’s arms.

“No, you are,” Brad says, dipping his head down to catch Ray’s mouth.

Ray kicks the door shut on the way to the bed. He pushes Brad onto it and climbs on after him. Brad’s hands come up, cradling his hips.

“Are you gonna let me touch you?” he asks, already breathless.

Ray yanks his shirt off over his head and pulls Brad’s hands up onto bare skin in reply.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Brad gasps, tracing Ray’s ribs and rolling one of his nipples between thumb and finger. Ray arches into the touch, desperate. “Pants too, c’mon, c’mon,” Brad urges, unbuttoning and unzipping Ray’s jeans. Ray gets up on his knees, trying to wiggle them down, but he gets stuck and starts tipping sideways.

Brad pushes him the rest of the way over and follows him, pulling off Ray’s flip-flops as he kicks off his own. He grabs Ray’s jeans by the ankles and pulls until they slide off, leaving Ray in just his briefs.

“Fuck,” Brad says again, and then he’s pressed against Ray from head to toe, jeans rough where they’re rubbing against Ray’s bare thighs.

Brad fits himself between Ray’s legs and rocks down into him, hard-on grinding into Ray’s. Ray moans, throwing his head back onto the bed. Brad takes advantage, licking and biting at Ray’s exposed throat. Brad’s still wearing all his clothes, which is completely unfair.

“Naked,” Ray says, tugging at Brad’s shirt. Brad makes a noise of agreement and pulls Ray’s briefs down and off in one fluid movement. He tosses them across the room and moves to retake the space he left. Ray catches Brad’s shoulders, holding him back.

“Now you,” he says, low and eager. “Let me see you.”

Brad sits back on his heels. His t-shirt is the first to go. Ray’s seen him before, after a workout or when he’s gotten drunk and lost his shirt somewhere. But it was nothing like this, in the low light of the streetlights through the curtains, with Ray having permission to touch.

He makes himself wait, though, watching Brad take off his jeans and tug his boxers down over his erection. Ray palms his own cock, hands shaking. Brad tosses his boxers after Ray’s briefs and replaces Ray’s hand with his own. They both gasp, and Ray cries out as Brad moves over him again, fitting their cocks together in his hand.

They both stop, overwhelmed. Ray gives an experimental roll of his hips. His cock slides along Brad’s length, in the circle of Brad’s fingers, and he nearly screams. Brad’s grip goes slack and then tightens, and they both start to move, rocking together.

“‘m not gonna last,” Brad says, leaning in closer. He presses his lips to Ray’s, and Ray licks into his mouth, hot and wet.

Ray is as close as Brad is. Brad leans back and pulls his hand away from them. He’s bringing it up to his mouth to lick his palm, but the angle changes where they’re still moving together, and his hips stutter. A second later he’s spilling over Ray’s stomach.

Brad slides his fingers through the mess and wraps his hand around Ray, jerking him off with rough, sloppy strokes. Ray comes in seconds, shouting, dizzy.

 

*

 

They kiss until they start getting sticky. They get cleaned up, and Ray tugs Brad down onto the bed, sliding under the sheets. Brad spoons up behind him, throwing an arm around Ray’s waist.

“I _am_ kind of a dumbass,” he says softly into Ray’s ear. Ray laughs.

“Yep,” he says, folding his hand over Brad’s. “Yeah, me too.”

 

*

 

“Brad!” someone yells. “Have you seen Ray? We can’t --”

The door opens, and Ray rolls over, squinting at the doorway. “What,” he says flatly. It’s way too early for Lilley to be barging into his room.

“Oh, shit. Never mind!” Lilley says. He’s got this weird big grin on his face as he shuts the door. “Found him!” he yells down the hall.

“The hell did he want?” Brad says from behind him, and then Ray wakes up enough to realize what just happened.

“He was looking for me,” he says, muffling a laugh into the pillow. “I guess we forgot to lock the door.”

Brad blinks at him, sleepy. “Oh,” he finally says. “Whoops.” And then he pulls Ray closer and falls back asleep.

 

*

 

They get their test grades back on Monday. Carlisle ended up curving it; Ray’s pretty sure they all would have failed otherwise. He definitely would have, but after the curve, he ends up getting a B-. It’s not the grade Ray wanted, but is still a million times better than all of the end-of-the-world scenarios he’d been picturing. He sticks the test to the fridge with a bunch of poetry magnets, a gift from someone’s mom last Christmas that they mostly use to write dirty things and hold up pizza coupons.

Since it’s Monday, the guys order pizza and wings to celebrate, instead of taking him out. They still insist on celebratory shots, but only one round. Ray goes to bed around midnight. In his own room, since he and Brad are trying to take things slow. Being roommates makes things complicated, and it’s probably not a good idea to start sleeping in Brad’s room every night just because he can. Or just because he really wants to.

He and Brad go running on Tuesday and Thursday, like usual. Now that Ray’s allowed to look when Brad takes his shirt off, he does so obviously and shamelessly. Brad just grins at him, tucking his t-shirt into the back of his shorts. Ray follows Brad into his room when they get back, and they make out against the wall until Ray’s running out of time to shower and leave for class. He tries to say something, but Brad’s biting his collarbone, and the words get stuck.

Brad slides a hand under the waistband of Ray’s shorts and into his underwear. Ray makes a choked-off noise, fumbling to do the same to Brad, but Brad knocks his hand away.

“Let me,” he says, and he watches Ray’s face as he jerks him off, leaning in to kiss him lightly as Ray gets close.

After, Brad pulls his hand out and licks it clean while Ray stares and his cock valiantly tries to get hard again. He pulls Brad down, licking into his mouth to taste himself.

Brad is still visibly hard, but he steps back when Ray reaches for him again.

“You’re gonna be late,” he says, and Ray scoffs.

“I don’t care,” he says, but Brad won’t budge.

“Tomorrow,” he promises.

“What, is waiting until Friday like, a thing for you or something?” Ray asks. He starts reluctantly for the door, because Brad’s clearly determined to be the most stubborn person in the room.

“Tomorrow, Ray,” Brad calls after him.

“Have fun jerking off in the shower,” Ray yells back. Brad can make him wait if he wants, but Ray doesn’t have to make it fun for him.

“Gross!” Lilley and Stafford chorus from their rooms.

 

*

 

Friday, they all have plans to go bar hopping downtown. Ray, Brad, and Rudy ride with Stafford. “No jizz in my backseat!” he warns Ray and Brad, narrowing his eyes in the rear-view mirror. Ray’s laugh gets cut off when Brad curls his hand around Ray’s knee.

They meet Lilley downtown, between the block full of restaurants and the block full of bars and cheap fast food joints. Lilley, Rudy, and Stafford start heading down the street toward everyone’s favorite dive bar, but Brad hooks his arm through Ray’s and pulls him in the other direction. He’s tucking Stafford’s keys into his pocket. Ray didn’t even see him get them.

“Have fun!” Rudy calls after them.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Stafford adds.

Ray looks at Brad, who’s walking purposefully, ignoring the giggling echoing down the street after them.

“That was weird,” Ray says. “It was almost like they were all in on some sort of plan.”

“That _is_ weird,” Brad agrees. Ray nudges his elbow into Brad’s side and settles in for whatever Brad has planned.

 

*

 

They turn into a restaurant halfway down the block, one that’s way nicer than anywhere they usually go, but not so nice that anyone judges them for wearing jeans and sneakers. Brad has apparently gotten them reservations, for a romantically lit table out on the romantically lit patio. Ray tries very very hard to pretend he’s not impressed, but Brad’s practically twitching with anticipation, and he gives up.

“This is nice,” he says, not a hint of teasing in his voice.

Brad’s whole face lights up for a second, and then he schools himself into a more neutral expression. “You like it?” he asks, trying for nonchalance, but Ray is onto him.

“You’re taking me to dinner,” he says, letting himself grin. He toes one of his shoes off and hooks his foot around Brad’s ankle.

Brad grins back. “I am,” he says, quietly pleased.

The waiter brings them water, and Brad orders them something. Ray thinks it’s wine, but he can’t really tell, because Brad orders it in French, and Ray can’t focus on anything else.

“Oh my god,” Ray says after the waiter leaves. “Stop it.”

“What are you talking about?” Brad asks, looking over the menu like he doesn’t already know exactly what he’s ordering for both of them. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Ray says. Brad glances up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, tangling their feet together. “Jesus christ, you can’t do that to me in public.”

The waiter returns with wine and an appetizer involving cheese and mushrooms. Brad orders something else, also in French, and hands the menus to the waiter.

“What did you order?” Ray asks. He’s pretty sure he can’t handle a whole night of this.

Brad just smiles. Ray leans forward, sliding his foot up Brad’s calf. Brad’s eyes go a little wide.

“I hope it was dessert,” Ray says.

“No, I --”

Ray settles his foot between Brad’s thighs.

“I have a plan,” Brad says weakly. His eyes flutter shut, and he forces them back open. Ray can see his resolve crumbling.

Ray presses, lightly, with his toes. “So do I.”

They lock eyes, and Ray thinks, very deliberately, about all the things they could be doing. “The house is empty,” he starts to point out, but Brad is already up and heading toward the waiter, napkin clutched in front of him like a shield.

Five minutes later, Brad’s paying for the wine and appetizer, and a slice of cheesecake, to go. When they get out to the car, Ray goes to the driver’s seat automatically, and Brad hands him the keys when he gets in.

They make the drive back to the house in record time. Ray parks in the garage, and the sudden quiet when the radio and engine turn off is startling. He turns to look at Brad, who’s looking back at him.

“We should go upstairs,” Brad says. Neither of them moves.

“There are beds upstairs,” Ray says, starting to lean in without really thinking about it.

“Beds,” Brad agrees. He starts leaning in, too. “With pillows. And blankets.” They both stop themselves, inches apart.

“Upstairs,” Ray says, and then they’re fumbling for their seatbelts and rushing out of the car and into the house.

They make it all the way to the upstairs hallway before Ray gives in to temptation and pushes Brad into the wall, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Brad pulls Ray closer, trying to undo the clasp of Ray’s belt with one hand. Ray makes a frustrated noise against Brad’s mouth, pulling back long enough to undo his belt and yank it out of the loops. Brad’s hips buck up against his as Ray tosses it through the open doorway of Brad’s room.

“Bed,” Ray says again. Brad turns Ray with a hand on his hip and molds himself to Ray’s back as he follows Ray into his room and shuts the door behind them.

He turns the lock with a click and spins Ray around. Ray looks up at him, and then they’re both grinning at each other like idiots. He toes his shoes off, watching Brad do the same. They come together again in front of the bed, mouths meeting and hands pulling at clothes until they’re both naked. Ray steps back, letting himself fall backward onto the bed. Brad follows him. He hovers over Ray for a long moment, and then they’re finally touching.

Their kiss is all tongue and teeth, both of them too turned on to be slow or careful. Ray wraps one leg around Brad, and their cocks slide together in the cradle of his hips. It feels so fucking good, but Ray doesn’t want to come like this.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps out.

Brad cups his cheek with one hand, making a sound of protest against Ray’s mouth. Ray turns his head, licking Brad’s thumb and sucking it into his mouth. Brad watches him, eyes dark. Ray pulls back, flickering his tongue over the pad of Brad’s thumb.

“C’mon,” he says, voice low. “Want you.”

Brad shudders against him, leaning in to suck on Ray’s lower lip. He barely moves away far enough to speak. “What do you --”

“Lube,” Ray interrupts. “I want -- your fingers, c’mon.”

Brad is moving in a heartbeat, crawling up the bed and opening the top drawer of his nightstand.

“Condoms, too,” Ray says, reaching out to run a hand down Brad’s spine. Brad tosses a bottle and a strip of condoms onto the bed and comes back to Ray.

He fumbles with the bottle, hands shaking enough that Ray takes it from him and slicks Brad’s fingers himself. He lays back on the bed, spreading his legs and pulling Brad down into a kiss. Brad brushes his fingertips over Ray’s entrance once, twice, and slides one finger into him, unbearably slow.

It’s been way too long since Ray last did this. He tries to breathe and relax into it. Brad buries his face in Ray’s neck and lays a line of hot sucking kisses along the column of his throat. Ray threads his fingers through Brad’s hair, pulling his mouth closer.

Brad adds a second finger, and then a third, stretching Ray. His mouth is hot and rough, teeth nipping at Ray’s jaw and lips and tongue. He’s so careful where he’s fucking Ray open with his fingers, almost hesitant. Ray needed a little patience at first, but he knows he needs to be the one to move things forward.

“Okay,” he says, voice raw. He pushes at Brad until he sits up and gently pulls his fingers out. Brad looks overwhelmed, pupils blown wide, cock hard and red against his stomach.

“Can you -- up by the headboard,” Ray says, too turned on to think of the right words. Brad goes anyway, letting Ray arrange him until he’s sitting up against the headboard, propped up by pillows.

Ray tears open one of the condom packets and slides the condom down over Brad, jacking him until Brad starts to thrust up into Ray’s hand. Brad moans, holding out a hand to urge Ray closer. Ray opens the lube again, slicks Brad’s cock, and then swings a leg over him to straddle Brad’s lap.

“Oh my god,” Brad says. He strokes his hands down Ray’s sides, gripping his hips. “So fucking hot, Ray.”

He moves one hand around to hold himself steady, the head of his cock sliding between the cheeks of Ray’s ass. Ray rocks his hips forward and then down, and they both moan as he slowly sinks down onto Brad. It feels huge, impossible. The stretch is almost too much, and Ray has to pause, squeezing Brad’s shoulders tightly and just breathing. He relaxes a little, tilting his hips back, and suddenly the head is inside him.

Ray works his way slowly down into Brad’s lap. Brad presses their mouths together, his lips and tongue and hands distracting Ray.

“Fuck, oh, _fuck_ ,” Ray blurts out when he’s finally got Brad all the way inside him. He rests his forehead against Brad’s. His thighs are shaking.

“You okay?” Brad asks. He squeezes Ray’s ass lightly with one hand.

“Feel so fucking good,” Ray says, rocking his hips experimentally. Brad’s hand tightens on his ass, and Ray feels another flare of arousal go through him. “Yeah,” he urges, arching his back and pressing his ass back into Brad’s hand.

“Yeah?” Brad asks, voice hot and pleased. He grabs Ray’s ass in both hands and lifts, guiding Ray up a little and then back down.

He lets Brad set the rhythm, fucking himself back onto Brad’s cock with increasingly desperate movements. His cock brushes against Brad’s stomach every time he moves. It’s enough to start him moaning against Brad’s mouth, little sounds he can’t control. His breath catches every time he slides back down, Brad’s cock filling him up.

Brad leans in to catch the sounds Ray’s making, flicking his tongue along Ray’s. His hips start to move, rocking up every time Ray comes down. The movement pushes Ray closer to him, his cock pressed up between their stomachs. A few more thrusts are enough to push him over the edge. He bites down on Brad’s lower lip, clenching down on him and going still as he spills between them.

Brad makes this ridiculously hot noise, a rough, drawn-out moan that catches in his throat. His hips are still rocking just a little, hands squeezing Ray’s ass so tight he might have bruises in the morning. Ray slumps against him, relaxing just enough for Brad to move again. He thrusts up into Ray, and the sensation’s almost too much, but it’s over in seconds. Ray can feel it when Brad comes.

They stay like that, neither of them ready to move. Ray gets back enough energy to lift his head off Brad’s shoulder and tilt his face up for a kiss. It’s a lazy, sated press of lips, both of them too relaxed to manage more than that.

After a few minutes, Brad tips them sideways, and Ray slowly eases Brad’s cock out of him.

Cleanup is mostly Brad throwing away the condom and both of them wiping each other off with a towel from the top of Brad’s (clean) basket of laundry, too tired to go down the hall to the bathroom. They climb under the covers, and Brad brushes a hand over Ray’s ass before settling his arm around his waist.

“Sorry about your dinner,” Ray mumbles into Brad’s collarbone.

“I’m not,” Brad says, pulling the sheet up over their shoulders. “Your plan was better.”

“It was,” Ray says smugly. “You can speak French any time, though.”

Brad presses a kiss to Ray’s temple. “ _Bonne nuit_ , Ray.”

 

*


End file.
